Saviours
by Aleera Frostbyte Lestrange
Summary: [HIATUS] With the introduction of a marriage law, Hermione finds herself between the edge and a killer. Maybe she can save his soul - before he destroys himself. Rape and violence are included. R&R
1. Chapter 1: Being matched

**AN: I don't own Harry Potter, the fantastic book collection is the property of writing goddess, J.K. Rowling. I feel like there aren't enough stories of Hermione being paired with deatheaters besides the Malfoy's and Snape - so** **…I took the liberty of writing a Hermione and Dolohov. It will be set over the Halloween break of Hermione's sixth year, so Harry and Ron won't be in it straight away.**

* * *

Chapter one

Dark POV -

Voldemort was in a generous mood, something that was incredibly rare. Perhaps it was the result of his next strategic plan or what he would gain with it. Either way, he was going to indulge one of his most loyal death eaters tonight. "Wormtail!" Voldemort shouted. The rat-like man stumbled over to the Dark Lord's throne, eager to serve his master. "Your arm, Wormtail, present your Mark," demanded the malevolent Dark Lord. Doing as he was ordered, Wormtail presented his Dark Mark - only to have Voldemort's wand pushed harshly into the Mark, drawing blood in the process. Within seconds, his most trusted Deatheaters - the Inner Circle - apparated into the dark room and proceeded to kneel before him. "My loyal followers, I have an announcement. My contact inside the Ministry has managed to get a new law passed...a marriage law." No one uttered a word. "Under the guise of a repopulation law, Mudbloods will be made to wed either Purebloods or Halfbloods. Using this law, we shall take Potter's most prized supporter...the Mudblood, Hermione Granger from right under his nose. One of my most loyal shall receive her as reward. Dolohov, step forward." The Deatheater obeyed the Dark Lord's command, kneeling at the foot of the throne. "As one of my most loyal followers, you shall wed the Mudblood. Do with her what you will: rape her; torture her; but I want as many heirs for the Dolohov line to continue."

"As you wish, my Lord. It is an honour to be given this reward," Dolohov replied, genuinely smiling. Antonin was considered an attractive man - especially, now he had recovered from his 15 years in Azkaban: Dark eyes that bordered on black; thick dark brown hair; chisled square jaw, that had a closely trimmed goatee; 6ft 2" stature with a beaters physique - well muscled with large bicep muscles.

* * *

Whilst pleased to be considered one of the Dark Lord's most loyal, Antonin Dolohov was conflicted. Ever since the Battle in the Department of Mysteries, he had felt a strong desire for the Mudblood Granger. She was beautiful, even for a Mudblood. Seeing her with her hair flying as she duelled with his fellow Deatheaters, a fire in her eyes as she fought for what she believed in - even if she was on the the wrong side. The night after the battle, he had returned to Malfoy Manor and isolated himself to his room. That night he had the best dream in his life. _He imagined her looking at him with her beautiful whiskey coloured eyes, darkened with love and arousal. They were both naked. Her pert breasts covered in bruises and bitemarks, flared hips with large hand-shaped bruises, and her inner thighs covered in her arousal and his semen. She licked her lips as she looked at his hard cock, ready for her - all 10 inches of thickness for her pleasure. He grabbed her curly brown tresses as he forced her on her knees and proceeded to force his thick cock into her mouth and down her throat. All before he bent her over at the waist, giving him the perfect view of her bare cunt dripping down her spread legs, before thrusting home into her over the desk, as his name was screamed with each thrust into her tight, wet and warm heat._ Needless to say, he had had to relieve the pressure in his balls multiple times that night. Antonin had kept his dreams a secret, his twisted secret. Yet, now he would soon get the chance to turn his fantasies of the 'Gryffindor Princess' into a reality.

* * *

Light POV -

Even before discovering her status as a first generation witch, Hermione had learned to question everything. Every look, every word, every possible motive. She poked at her food with the fork, waiting for the arrival of the owl post. Waiting for the letter that would seal her fate to someone else. She was nervous about it. She was nervous, being the only one in her group of friends that qualified for the marriage law, due to her constant time turner use in third year.

The Daily Prophet had been all over it. How any witch or wizard aged seventeen to forty could be paired off to marry potential strangers by the end of the month, was beyond sane. Apparently, the Ministry thought it was acceptable to pass this ridiculous law, whilst there was a war looming over their heads, like thunder clouds. Even with evidence of Voldemort's return, they still choose to put their heads in the sand and ignore it anyway. Apparently, extensive research had shown that the wizarding population had steadily decreasing over the years. But the whole law reeked of Voldemort. The law had passed, far too easily. She hated this damn law. The actual name for it was one she found completely ridiculous. The **'Conception and Matrimony Law'**. Hermione could remember the Prophet's article, bearing the law's information.

* * *

 **Flashback** **:**

 **Conception and Matrimony Law - the details!**

 _The Ministry of Magic has decreeded a law for marriage of wizarding folk between the ages of seventeen and forty, as means of boosting the birth rate, as well as lower the shockingly increasing amount of squibs born - particularly coming from the Pure-Blooded families - and to help the current generation by matchmaking them through old magic means._

 _The matchmaking is a complicated process, but from what has been leaked from the Ministry of Magic, it is clearly thorough. It finds those that have compatible personalities, are physically attracted to each other, and checks many other things to assure that the marriage is a good fit. There is no way to switch marriages if they do not work out._

 _The contents of the law passed are below and it is strongly suggested that everyone fitting the age requirement reads it._

 _Uphold_ _ing the Law;_

 _1\. We, the Ministry of Magic, assure you that this law is needed, and to go against it is to spend a year in Azkaban._

 _2\. If you attempt to run from the law, your stay will be extended to two years._

 _3\. If you attempt to stop another person's marriage, it will be three years._

 _4\. Contraceptive measures will result in a fine of 250 Galleons and up to six months in Azakaban. If you use muggle pills or anything else to aid in this act, the fine is pushed up to eighty galleons._

 _5\. Changing a Match will not be possible. The matchmaking process used prevent any errors being made._

 _6\. This Law is applies for unmarried witches and wizards. If you marry before tomorrow, your letter will not be sent. If you are already married, this law does not apply to you unless you get a divorce._

 _7\. If you are unable to reproduce, you are exempt from the law. If you discover this after the marriage, you will be divorced as long as your partner is still capable and a new match will be set up for them, otherwise that decision lies in your hands._

 _Requirements of the law;_

 _1\. Conceive a child within the first six months. If there are difficulties, it is advised to go to the hospital and have reproduction tests run._

 _2\. Attend monthly check-ups at St. Mungos to check for pregnancy._

 _3\. Spend with your husband/wife around your schedule. Specifically seventy two hours a week. Some exceptions can be made._

 _4\. On the day of the marriage, fulfill the act by consummating the marriage._

 _5\. Attempt to get pregnant at least twice a week._

 _6\. Make marriage arrangements and select a date within the week you get your letter._

 _7\. Be married by the end of the month._

 _Under this law it will be punishable by death or a sentence to Azkaban depending on severity if you harm your child in anyway.  
_

* * *

 _ **Present:**  
_

It was outrageous. Nonetheless, Hermione was nervous. A flutter of wings came above her head. This was it. She was about to find out the name of her match, the person she would be bound to by the bonds of matrimony. A sharp nip to the back of her small hand drew her attention. The owl had drawn blood. Stood on the table in front of Hermione, was a handsome eagle owl. His feathers shining in the morning sun, he gazed at her with bored eyes. Attached to his leg was the letter, bearing the Ministry seal - as well as a file, that had likely been sealed with magic. Untying the letter from the owl's leg, the Gryffindor gathered all of her courage as she broke the seal and unfurled the letter.

* * *

 **Dear Miss Granger,**

 **The regulations of** **Contraception and Matrimony Law,** **mean that** **couples will be matched on the following:**

• **Magical abilities** **-** _ **wand properties, excelled areas of magic.**_

• **Basic personality** **-** _ **using references from school or work.**_

• **Likelihood** **to** **develop relationship with spouse** **-** _ **attractiveness and likely willingness to consumate the marriage.**_

• **Estimated fertility -** _ **based on ages**_ _ **.**_

 **Based on these criteria,** **the enclosed file contains your future spouses information.  
**

* * *

As she touched to file, her magic reacted and a seal along to edge of the file broke; confirming her suspicion of only opening through the registering of her magical signature. Opening the enclosed file, Hermione almost dropped the pages out of sheer horror. There staring up at her was the handsomely smirking face of the man who tried to kill her in the Department of Mysteries - Antonin Dolohov.


	2. Chapter 2: Attempted Civility

**AN: I don't own Harry Potter, otherwise I'd have killed Ron and kept Fred and Remus.**

 **AN2: PLEASE READ! I'm doing it that Voldemort's contact in the Ministry had certain Deatheaters cleared of charges - so many people will believe them to be innocent.**

* * *

Light POV -

She couldn't say that she was suprised. Voldemort had obviously pulled strings to make this happen. The Ministry couldn't honestly believe that Dolohov was a smart match for her! He was a deranged psychopath! He had tried to kill her! Unable to believe her eyes, Hermione closed the file. _He should not be that good looking for a murderer,_ she thought. Shaking her head of the thought, she reopened the file; this time ignoring his smirking face.

* * *

 **Name:** Antonin Dolohov

 **Age:** 37 and 8 months

 **Nationality:** Russian

 **Blood Status:** Pureblood

 **Height:** 6ft 2inches

 **Personality:** Extrovert

 **Educational Qualifications:** Received masteries in Ancient Runes and Arithmancy

 **Occupation:** Unspeakable in the Department of Mysteries.

* * *

She couldn't fault that her future husband was intelligent. She shuddered, but hardly knew what his temperment was. Would he always be angry? Or easily frustrated? Either way, she would rather spend the minimum amount of hours with the Deatheater. Hermione was seething. As the only student in sixth year eligible for law, she was left feeling isolated - Harry and Ron would never understand. She was underage, she was too young to marry! It wasn't the Dark Ages anymore! Closing the file once again, she poked at her scrambled eggs on toast. They had gone cold now. Collecting her books and bag, the muggle-born witch left for her favourite place in Hogwarts. The library.

* * *

Alone in the book stacks, Hermione breathed deeply, the scent old parchment strong. The smell of old tomes always calmed her. Their words would never change, and that ground her whenever the world spun around her. It always terrified her when the Wizarding world changed around her, she couldn't just leave it though - the muggle world never understood her. Running wasn't an option, it would just see her in Azkaban and married regardless.

A looming shadow approached her from behind a stack of books. "Miss Granger," came the dark tones of Professor Snape. Turning sharply, Hermione looked up at the brooding teacher; she hadn't heard him approach. "Yes, Professor?" Hermione queried. He gestured to the chair across from her, silently asking to sit down - she nodded an affirmative. "Dolohov has written to the Headmaster..." Snape began, looking almost uneasy, "he has expressed an urgent request to have the wedding by the end of the week. He will be coming to Hogwarts tomorrow."

"What? But...that's too soon! I can't see him!" Panic began setting into Hermione's psyche. Her regular breathing quickened, her eyes filled with tears - Snape recognised the signs of a panic attack.

Withdrawing a small vial from his pocket, he walked around the table and knelt down in front of the hyperventilating young witch. Handing her the Calming Draught, he patiently waited for her to calm down.

The young witch had always reminded Snape of Lily Evans, with her intellect and protective nature. He didn't want to see her bound by to a Deatheater for the rest of her life - yet, there was nothing the Order could do. He vowed to protect her to the best of his ability. As Hermione looked up at Snape, the panicked tears having left her eyes, she asked "Why me? Why are I stuck with a murderer?"

"Because the Dark Lord wishes to have you away from Dumbledore, the Order and Mr Potter - your intelligence is famed."

"But Dolohov?"

"Dolohov was 'rewarded' with you as being one of the Dark Lord's most loyal. He has developed a...fascination with you." Snape chose to withold that he had seen some of the fantasies Dolohov had about the young witch - they had made him shudder in disgust. _How could Dolohov fantasise about having sex with a 16 year old witch?_ Snape thought. Hermione didn't say a word. Simply stood from her chair, walking past Snape and out of the library.

* * *

Hermione didn't see anyone on the way to the Gryffindor Common Room, she was on auto-pilot. Approaching the Fat Lady's portrait, she quietly uttered the password, "Samhain" to enter. Walking through the portrait, she was greeted by a deserted Common Room. Good, she thought, they're probably going to be gone away. Pulling a piece of parchment from her bag and grabbing her quill, and settling in the armchair by the fire, Hermione began writing to Harry and Ron.

* * *

 **Dear Harry and Ron,**

 **I hope your Halloween is going better than mine. No doubt you've heard about the new marriage law from Mr Weasley...I don't think I've ever been more alone; not having you guys here to give me a hug as I cried when I found out my match. It was daunting, opening that letter, praying it was someone I at least knew...I'm familiar with my future husband all right. Antonin Dolohov. The same Deatheater who tried to kill me. Just my luck.**

 **Snape came to see me in the library earlier. Apparently, Dolohov wants to have us married by the end of the week and is coming to Hogwarts tomorrow...I don't think I can face him. Wish you guys were here to give me some support, but I suppose I'll have to make do alone this time.**

 **Hope I'll see you guys when you get back, if my bigot of a future husband doesn't pull me out.**

 **Love you both,**

 **Hermione.**

* * *

The next day;

The next morning, Hermione awoke after 9am to an empty dormitory. Crookshanks sat at the end of her bed, flat-faced like always. Climbing out of bed, she made her way to the bathroom for a shower. The witch brushed her teeth, her hair and got dressed - a dark blue blouse and white skinny jeans. As she completed her look with a dap of lipgloss and a little mascara, it hit her. She was meeting her future husband today...I hope he doesn't try to kill anybody, she thought, especially me.

* * *

Dark POV -

Antonin arrived through the Headmaster's Floo immaculately. Not one speck of dust or ash on his pressed robes. Looking at Professor Dumbledore, he smirked before taking a seat in one of the armchairs. "When will my lovely bride get here?" Antonin questioned in his slightly Russian accent. Dumbledore raised an eyebrow, the twinkle in his eye dull with defeat. There was no way to get the young witch out of Deatheater hands - just as planned by Lord Voldemort. A knock on the office door drew the attention of both wizards. "Enter," Dumbledore called. The heavy oak door opened slowly, before revealing Professor Snape and Hermione Granger. Antonin restrained himself from licking his lips at the uncomfortable look on her beautiful face.

Physically, she hadn't changed much since the Battle of the Department of Mysteries. Her hair had calmed marginally in its wildness; whiskey eyes still held that passionate fire - yet, he could see things up close that he hadn't noticed in the battle. Her face was devoid of any overly made up areas, just mascara on her long, thick eyelashes. Freckles dusted across the bridge of her little button nose, giving her an innocent look; whilst her lips were made for sin, that bottom lip begging to be bitten in its plumpness. She was also tiny, only 5ft 4inches according to her file - he dwarfed her. Antonin smirked. She was the epitome of what he was looking for in appearance, as well as nature. It was obvious that she was scared, but she held her head high and schooled her face to hide that fear - taking on a look of indifference.

Rising to his feet, he took her hand and kissed the inside of her wrist - as was expected of a man when meeting a woman. Smooth skin met his lips. She tastes like strawberries, he thought, delicious. "Good to see you again, Hermione," Antonin purred, smirking. She looked as if she would curse him. She remembered him, and would always be reminded everytime she looked at her torso. "Hello...Antonin," Hermione replied, looking anywhere but his face. Oh, little lioness...you'll have to do more than look at me at the end of the week, he thought, sinisterly smirking to himself.


	3. Chapter 3: Blood-drawn engagement

**AN: Lucky people! Two chapters in 24 hours. I must love you guys! Don't own Harry Potter...though I've been told that had Bellatrix and Roldophus Lestrange had a daughter, I would be her. I'm evil, cunning and a brilliant liar.**

 **AN2: Thank you for your reviews guys! I always feel nervous when someone comments, and to have such great feedback extinguishes that fear. Feel free to let me know what you think should happen guys, your input is welcome!**

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Dark POV -

Not wasting any more time, Antonin turned to Dumbledore. "I mentioned my intentions in this meeting in my letter. Sealing the proposal?" Antonin said, arching an eyebrow - as if daring the wizened Headmaster to deny a Wizarding marriage tradition. Hermione frowned, her delicately arched eyebrows scrunching up in confusion. _She is even beautiful when confused_ , he thought. "Of course, Mr Dolohov. Sealing of the proposal is a custom that must be done," Dumbledore replied reluctantly. Smirking at his obvious victories, Antonin turned to his wife-to-be, before bending onto one knee. Hermione backed away a step, only he caught her hand and pulled her towards him. Pulling a velvet ring box from his robe pocket, Antonin looked at the figure of Snape. _I win_ , he thought, knowing that Snape could hear him through Legimency. "Hermione," he purred, drawing her name out, "will you marry me?" Opening the lid of the velvet box, he revealed the engagement ring.

There, nestled in the cushion, was an extravagant platinum engagement ring - a large princess cut diamond caught the light, refracting the rays, giving the ring am ethereal glow. On either side of the diamond was a cluster of tiny emeralds, that formed infinity symbols. "I hardly have a choice. I can't run, and I highly doubt that the Ministry will give me another match...so put the ring on my damn finger and leave!" Hermione ranted. In the back of Antonin's mind, a niggling feeling arose. He was forcing this girl to marry him - most of his ancestors had married for love. A rarity among Purebloods. He was going to ruin his family's unusuality with this marriage.

Taking the ring from the box, Antonin lightly grasped Hermione's hand and slid the ring into place. It looked perfect on her. The tears in her eyes were not ones of happiness, as should be there when proposed too. Instead, they were tears of hate; of fear; of resignation. Antonin felt guilt ooze into the pit of his stomach. A loveless marriage for a little, who had barely spread her wings and taken flight. His prescence would clip her wings, and she would stay forever grounded. A lioness hiding the heart of a frail little bird. He understood the protective look in Snape's eyes; despite being smart and fierce, she was fragile and breakable. He didn't want to see her break, the Dark Lord did. He didn't want the fire in her eyes to go out, the Dark Lord did. Antonin wanted to have something akin to love, even if only fondness - not hate. He had never experienced it, not since the death of his beloved mother. _I will make her love me,_ he thought determinedly.

His fiancé turned to Dumbledore. "Can I please leave now?" Hermione begged him. Dumbledore didn't answer. Simply, looked at Snape. As if a silent request, Snape began to speak. "In the Wizarding world, engagements have to be sealed with a kiss. It officialises the proposal," he ground out through his teeth. Collecting his arrogant persona once again, Antonin smirked. "Severus...you had to ruin the surprise," he joked. Hermione looked like a doe ready to bolt. "Don't worry your pretty little head about it, Little Bird. You're in very capable hands, I assure you," Antonin winked at her cockily. For a split second, Hermione looked murderous. "You're a Deatheater. You'll end up trying to get secrets out of me. Try and break me. You'll probably abuse me, as I'm just a ' _reward_ ' from Voldemort," she reiterated calmly. She seemed _too_ calm. "Oh, Little Bird...so naïve. I'm an innocent man, didn't you know!" Antonin retorted, the smirk never moving. Snape didn't move. Dumbledore didn't move. Neither moved as he pushed his lips to her own, sealing the emgagement.

* * *

Light POV -

The moment he pressed his lips to hers, Hermione was in open water. Fighting the current, trying to stay above the water. Every sinful movement of his soft lips, set her nerves on fire. _It should be illegal to kiss this well,_ she thought. One of his hands came to rest in the side of her face. She loved hands, they fascinated her. Antonin's were soft, yet covered in callouses. Man hands. His other hand came to rest on her slim waist, pulling her closer to his chest. Suddenly, Hermione planted her small hands on Dolohov's broad chest and pushed him away. As she pushed him, the serpent headed ring on him left hand caught her face. The snake's fang dug into her cheek and ripped the skin, drawing the first blood and tears of their future. Snape leapt into action, pinning Dolohov against the wall by his robe's collar. Out of fear that it had been done on purpose, Hermione fled the office and didn't look back, tears fogging her vision.

* * *

The bleeding had finally stopped. Dried streaks of blood ran down from the gash, having mingled with her tears. Hidden out in the Room of Requirement, Hermione cleaned the dry blood of her face to reveal an angry laceration on her cheek. She didn't care if it scarred, she wasn't superficial like Lavender or even Ginny. Raising her vine wand, Hermione touched the tip to the laceration and muttered "vulnera sanentur." Of all the branches of magic, healing spells were some of the most difficult - unfortunately, she struggled with certain healing spells. The skin knitted back together, yet left a faint scar. Glancing at the beautiful engagement ring on her left hand, Hermione couldn't help but acknowledge it's beauty. The emerald stood out against her pale skin. A beautiful jewel to distract her from his true nature no doubt. _I going to need a grasp on healing spells if I'm going to be married to a deatheater,_ she thought, he did it on purpose, _trying to show that he could do what he wanted._


	4. Chapter 4: Binding Vows

**AN: So many people favourited and followed my story! Aww! I'm not that crap a writer then! Regretably, I don't own the Harry Potter franchise; if I did, there would have been another Lestrange - that I would have played.**

 **AN2: Please understand I'm not making Hermione a push over. She will push her luck, and uncover a different side to Dolohov. But, it'll take a while - she won't take it lying down.**

 **AN3: Time Lapse - now the wedding.**

* * *

Light POV -

This was it. Her wedding day. The day she would be bound to a member of Voldemort's inner circle. Today, she would lose her freedom, her innocence and her future. She had said goodbye to her dreams of making a difference to the world. Hermione felt defeated, as she prepared for her wedding. Upon her return from her shower, she noticed a rectanglar black box on her bed. Atop it, was a folded piece of parachment. She was exhausted from researching Wizarding marriages the night before, and wanted nothing more than to crawl back into bed; yet, she was curious. Picking up the note and unfolding it, she read the beautifully written note inside.

* * *

 _Little Bird,_

 _I planned a proper handfasting ceremony. Some of my associates will be attending, but the ceremony will be held at Hogwarts. Aren't I a considerate husband? Knowing my future wife fears the idea of marrying anywhere else._

 _In the box is your gown. Wear it. I think it will suit you; you'll wear no shoes - handfastings are done barefoot. Wear your hair down._

 _Until later, my little bride._

 _A.D._

* * *

Opening the box, Hermione's gaze was met by white fabric. With shaking hands, she extracted the dress from the confines of the box; allowing the length to unfold, revealing the dress. It was exquisite. The gown was made entirely of Acromantula silk. The bodice had a sweetheart neckline, and a corseted back. Dotted along the neckline, was tiny celtic runes sewn into the fabric; some of which she didn't recognise. Pooling on the floor, was the skirt of the dress. From the bottom of the bodice, the lace skirt gently fanned out to the floor. She couldn't deny that her fiancé had good taste.

Laying the gown on her bed, Hermione dried herself the muggle way. It took longer, yet, it grounded her. Whenever she pictured her wedding, she imagined her mother doing her hair and make-up; her father bodering on tears, as he tells her how beautiful she looks. But, she hadn't told her parents about the law, so they wouldn't get to do any of that. She slipped on the white underwear that had been at the bottom of the box. The bra push her breasts up and encased them in lace; whilst the panties were lace brazilians, bordering on being a thong. They only added her discomfort.

Clad in the underwear, she transfigured a quill into a mirror, and began on her hair. She refused to have it down like he had ordered, so she gathered the top layer of her hair. Deftly, Hermione began to braid the hair into a running plait. As she reached the end of the plait, she carefully tied it before beginning to put the rest of hair into a bun. Wrapping the plait around the bun, she pinned it into place. With the exception of a few little curls that framed her face, her hair was perfect. Dolohov has another thing coming if he thinks he can tell me what to do, Hermione thought determinedly. Casting a quick Tempus charm, she noticed that she only had thirty minutes before the beginning of the ceremony. Applying mascara and a light blush, the young bride rushed to put on her dress. _The quicker this gets done_ , she thought, _the less time I'll have to be around him._

* * *

Dark POV -

Although he didn't show it, Antonin was nervous. Having pictured himself an eternal bachelor, his future was changing quickly. He found himself thinking of gifts he would rain upon her, in an attempt to win her affections. His thoughts changed to their wedding night; would she cry and refuse to go near him? Or would his Little Bird put on a brave face? Either way, he would enjoy the feeling of her under him, above him. He planned on consuming her, hoping that she was as responsive as she was when duelling. Damn, he was hard now.

Looking out at the guests, he saw faces of Order members and fellow Deatheaters; heard them talking amongst themselves. The half-breed Lupin and his little girlfriend were amongst the Order guests that he had invited for Little Bird; hopefully, getting him in her good graces. Looking at his own guests, he saw the Malfoys - with the young scion smirking at the idea of the Mudblood marrying a Deatheater; Rabastan Lestrange, the brother of his best friend; and Rowle, the Dark Lord's hit-wizard. Seeing the Order on guard made him smirk, they were unaware that the Dark Lord had ordered a temporary truce. There would be no attacks from the Deatheaters today. It did not shock Antonin to see that Snape was glaring at him; neither was it lost to him that he seemed rather protective of Hermione. _But why? Why want to protect a Mudblood?_

Surprising to everyone, Antonin had opted for a muggle suit. It showed his broad shoulders, narrow waist and long legs. In his lapel, was a Dolohov rose. The rose had been designed by his mother; the petals were forest green, with silver accented tips. A truly unique flower, just as unique as his Little Bird. Silence fell upon the guests as the band began to play the wedding march. Walking slowly, down the petal-littered aisle, was Hermione. Antonin was shocked; she looked like the embodiment of an angel, the epitome of innocence. She didn't look at him, even as she stopped in front of him. Woven into her hair, was a Dolohov rose. It aggitated him that she had worn her hair up; he had wanted it down. Although, with her hair up, her long plae neck was on show - begging to be bitten.

* * *

Light POV -

Before walking down the aisle, Professor McGonagall approached the young bride. In her hands was a green rose. "Hermione," the scottish woman began, "I'm sorry you have to go through this. But, all of the Order's efforts have been in vain; Voldemort made sure there would be no loopholes." McGonagall wove the rose into Hermione's hair, as she tried to process this new information. She tried to speak. No words came out. "According to your future husband, this is a Dolohov rose; completely unique. He insists that you wear it." McGonagall stated;yet, in her heart she knew that her young lion cub did not care for Herbology.

* * *

Walking down the aisle, Hermione thought of nothing more than how much she wanted to bolt. The grass tickled her barefeet, although it was still wet with morning dew. One half of the guests were Order members, she could see Remus Lupin and Tonks in the front row; whilst Mad-eye Moody stood off to the side. Yet, none of her close friends - no Harry or Ron. The only Weasley there was Bill, who gently smiled when she caught his eye. The other half of the guests were 'cleared' Deatheaters. Malfoy's senior and juniour smirked maliciously, whilst Mrs Malfoy looked slightly fearful. Was it for Hermione's wellbeing? Most likely, Snape had said that Dolohov was known for his incredibly short temper.

There, at the end of the aisle, was her fiancé. Clad in a muggle suit, Hermione could easily see him being an athletic man. Broad shoulders, long legs and a narrow waist - if she ignored his beliefs, Hermione might have been attracted to him. Taking her position next to him, and holding his broad calloused hand, she allowed her mind to wander. The ministry offical began the ceremony, tying a length of white ribbon around the couple's hands before fluently speaking Gaelic, but Hermione couldn't hear. She was thinking of the dreams she had given up; of curing lycanthropy; of giving muggle-borns more rights. The official turned to her and waited for her reply - it was time to say those fateful words that would change her life. "I do." Hermione whispered. She could feel Dolohov smirking at her, she refused to look at him. He declared his own "I do," before the daunting part of the ceremony.

The official turned to the bride and groom. "I now pronounce you man and wife, you may kiss the bride." Dolohov pounced. Pressing his sinful lips to her own plump one, he moulded her mouth for a minimalistic amount of time. His hand cupped her cheek, before pulling away. He had forgone his serpent ring. Dolohov ran the pad of the thumb across the light scar on her cheek before pulling it away. The Deatheater held her gaze, the slightly insane glint in his eyes reminded her of a sane Barty Couch Jr. Yet, under that slightly insane haze, Hermione could see an unrecognisable emotion. _What was it?_ She thought. "I present to you, Mr and Mrs Dolohov!" Exclaimed the ministry official, as the wedding bands appeared on the newly wedded husband and wife's left hands.

* * *

AN4: I was gonna do the wedding night in this chapter, but I decided against it. Do you want a lust potion enduced smut scene, or an awkward one that borders slightly on rape?


	5. Chapter 5: Lustful Consummation

**AN: I don't own the wonderful world of Harry Potter. Although, I'm going to sue Dumbledore's ass for not sending me a Hogwarts letter six years ago!**

 **AN2: I had some mixed reviews about whether to do a lust potion induced wedding night or one that bordered on rape. I've decided to go with a lust induced wedding night, that way there can be a 'rape' scene later in the story. Either way, here's a naughty chapter.**

* * *

Dark POV -

Narcissa Malfoy pitied the poor witch. Over the years, her views of muggle-borns had changed - all with the arrival of Hermione Granger. Besting her son in classes that he had more experience in, Granger had flourished in this seemingly new world. Yet, seeing her marry a Deatheater, had evoked such heart-wrenching pity that she was going to do the unthinkable. In school, Narcissa had alwaysi been adept at Potions; upon hearing of the wedding, she had resurrected her Potioning skills. Brewing a diluted Lust Potion in secret, she planned to give it to the new Mrs Dolohov - to help get through the wedding night. Deatheaters weren't known for their patience or kindness.

Antonin kept a tight grasp on his new wife's hand, as he pulled her towards the Malfoy family. "Mrs Dolohov, a pleasure," Lucius Malfoy purred suggestively, his white-blonde hair catching the light. He reached out to take her hand, when Antonin pulled Hermione back. "Keep your hands to yourself, Lucius, before you lose them. You have a wife, go and play with her," he practically growled. Mrs Malfoy chose this as the opportunity to intervene. "Antonin, the ceremony was absolutely perfect," she gushed, drawing the attention off her own husband, "I was wondering if I could have a word with your beautiful wife before you depart?" Releasing Hermione's arm, he nodded an affirmative. Narcissa could be trusted, the rest of the Malfoy's could not. "I'll be over with Rabastan, Little Bird," Antonin informed her. The young bride glared at him. "I don't care, you asshole. As long as I'm away from you, I'll be happy!" Hermione spat out, walking towards Narcissa.

* * *

Light POV -

Away from Antonin, Hermione could breathe. Since the ceremony, she had felt rather faint. _Probably the binding of our magic_ , she reflected. "Hermione, if I may, I wish to give you something," Mrs Malfoy began. Hermione nodded skeptically. Reaching into her purse, she drew out a small vial containing a red liquid. "This is a diluted Lust Potion. My sister, Andromeda, made me one for my wedding night. She said that it would make things go a little faster, get the consummating done," Mrs Malfoy explained. The young Gryffindor was still a little confused. "Why would you give me this?" Hermione queried.

"Deatheaters are not famed for their patience. Antonin would likely tie you to the bed and rape you, if you resisted." That scared Hermione. She didn't want her first time to be forced. Taking the vial from the older witch's hand, Hermione tucked it inside her clevage.

Thanking Mrs Malfoy, she walked away towards the Order members where she was swept into a tight hug. It was Tonks. The metamorpmagi sadly smiled at her, and tears spung to Hermione's eyes. This was possibly the last time she would see any of the Order. Next, Bill pulled her into a light hug. "Mum wished she could be here to support you, but Ginny's come down with something and wouldn't stop vomiting," he informed her as Remus handed her a Galleon.

"What's this?" Hermione asked.

"One of the D.A. Galleons, Harry asked me to give it to you. Just in case," the werewolf explained. Remus had been protective of the Golden Trio, ever since their Third year. He couldn't imagine what it was like to see their tiny best friend being married off; potentially never seeing her again. Mad-eye was next, only offering his famous saying "Constant Vigilance!"

One by one, Order members offered their piteous advice, ranging from "stay safe" to "don't give any secrets away." Hermione couldn't imagine giving away any of the Order's secrets. Once the Order members had dwindled down, Antonin approached her. "Come, Little Bird. Time to go home."

* * *

Neutral POV -

They had flooed straight into the master bedroom of Dolohov Manor, Antonin releasing his wife from his embrace. "Is there a bathroom I could use?" Hermione asked, needing the privacy to take the Lust Potion. The wizard pointed to a door to the left of the fireplace. Entering the bathroom, Hermione quickly extracted the vial from her clevage, uncorking it and quickly drinking it in one gulp. As she disposed of the vial, and took her curly tresses down, the potion began taking effect.

Retuning to the bedroom, she leant against the doorframe and took in the sight of her husband. He had thrown his suit jacket on the desk, removed his shoes and socks, and was currently removing his tie and unbuttoning the white shirt. Hermione felt flustered - seeing him reveal his broad muscular chest that she found herself wanting to lick; those broad biceps she wanted to be wrapped in; narrow waist she would wrap her legs around. Antonin turned around, heat in his smouldering grey-green.

"Malen'kaya ptitsa...vy potryasayushchiy," he whispered in Russian, as he caressed her soft skin. Hermione didn't care that she couldn't understand his words, they sounded hypnotically beautiful. Antonin bent his head down, drawing her into a passionate kiss, his fingers ghosted along her arms. Broad hands quickly made short work of her corset ties, allowing it to pool on the floor at her feet. He rubbed her nipples through the lace fabric of her bra, feeling them harden deliciously in his hands as he intertwined his tongue with hers, feeling her moan for him. _Her moans sounded like that of an angel_ , he thought.

Hermione whimpered delightedly, as Antonin played with her nipples, reaching to unclasp her bra, as he freed her breasts, palming them in his large hands. Grasping her hips, he picked her up. Wrapping her lithe long legs around his narrow waist, Hermione threw her head back in rapture as Antonin's sinful lips closed around her pebbled nipples. He carried her over to the bed, laying her back in the middle. Seeing her panting, her ample bosom heaving and whiskey eyes glazed with desire, Antonin felt himself get impossibly harder in the confines of his trousers. Leaning down, he laid open-mouthed kisses on her neck; before lightly biting her collarbone. Hermione gasped. _So, my Little Bird likes being marked_ , he thought.

Her big doe eyes looked up at him as she bit on her juicy, pink lower lip, swollen from their passionate kissing. "Please," Hermione begged. Kissing down her torso, he ignored the scars that he had caused, and licked her navel. Continuing on his path, he hooked his long fingers into the sides of her panties and pulled them away from his prize. She was completely bare, pretty pink lips swollen and clit standing out. Hermione let out a sharp cry as he swiped her little cunt hole. Antonin inspected her with fiery eyes; she bit on her juicy, pink lower lip, still swollen from their passionate kissing. Resuming his task, he sucked on her little clit, making her back arch. "Oh Merlin...more! Please more!" Hermione moaned in ecstacy. He chuckled against her clit, the vibrations sending her over the edge. Stars erupted behind her eyelids, back arching and a cry fell from her lips. She was beautiful in her ecstacy.

As she continued to recover from her climax, Antonin smirked. "I'm not done with you yet, little wife," he said, his Russian accent thickening with desire. Slipping a long finger into her tiny entrance, her inner walls spasmed at the intrusion. Making a come hither motion, Hermione's back arched once again; moving the digit in and out of her cunt, Antonin added another finger. She felt impossibly tight around the fingers. Unbuttoning his trousers, he pushed them down his long legs with his boxers. Withdrawing the fingers and spreading her legs, Antonin settled between them.

Hermione gasped in surprise as she felt his rock-hard erection pressed against her dampness, wriggling slightly to get more friction, as his tongue once again explored her mouth, mapping out every inch of it. She wrapped one leg around his hip, urging him on. "Little Bird, are you ready for me?" Antonin whispered seductively. She moaned and nodded. Positioning his long thick cock, he thrust in sharply - breaking her virginity quickly. His little wife went rigid at the invasion. He shushed her, wiped away the stray tears that fell and allowed her to adjust. He would never do this with any other woman, never had. Having gotten used to forcing himself on women, it was nice to take his time.

Hermione wiggled her hips slightly, signalling for him to move. Pulling out until only the head of his cock resided inside her, he snapped his hips and thrust back into her. Her loud moans filled the room as Antonin's cock stretched her cunt so deliciously. She was incredibly tight around him. "Harder...faster...Oh dear God," Hermione moaned, as he thrust into her - putting more force behind his thrusts. Both of them were nearing their peaks. Hermione fell over the edge again, her walls spasming around Antonin's cock, milking him of his seed. They came together, moaning as they did.

Withdrawing from her tight channel, Antonin laid next to her, as she caught her breath. A faint smile on her lips, her whiskey eyes began to close. Snuggling against him, Antonin felt his heart skip a beat. No one had willingly been this close to him since taking the Dark Mark. Curling his arm around and drawing her close, he got comfortable; closing his own eyes, he savoured the feeling of the warm body next to him.

* * *

AN3: I followed the smut writing tutorial by Quinn Anderson. I recommend using it if you're trying to write a sexy scene, its called 'the ultimate guide to writing smut fic'.

AN4: I used google translate for Dolohov's little Russian line, which means 'little bird, you look stunning'.


	6. Chapter 6: Prisoner in Marriage

**AN: Not the owner of Harry Potter, waiting for Dumbledore to be served.**

 **AN2: I know who my regular reviewers are, and they are making this literature student continue writing. But lately, no one has reviewed...can't help but feel lost!**

* * *

Dark POV -

Antonin awoke in the morning to a warm body sprawled across his chest. Little Bird. Her curly tresses tickled his muscles. A small smile came to his face before falling away. But something wasn't sitting right with him. _Why did my little wife act so wanton?_ Antonin thought. He was pinned under her grounding weight. He thought back to last night. Her whiskey eyes had been hazy with desire, when she had exited the en suite bathroom; her mouth tasted like strawberries and champagne. He closed his eyes as the truth hit him. Lust potion. Hermione had taken a Lust Potion. She could only know one person capable of brewing such a complex potion. Snape.

Hermione stirred in his arms, burying her face in his chest. But he didn't want to acknowledge her presence at that moment. Putting her gently from his person, Antonin got out of bed and pulled on his boxers. Not caring that they had been worn, he slid the dress pants up his long legs before standing and rolling his shoulders. He couldn't believe he had tricked himself into believing, that someone that pure of mind and heart could want him in any way.

Before leaving the bedroom, he waved his wand to summon any magical objects she may have bought with her. Her undeniably beautiful wand flew into his outstretched hand, as did a galleon. _Strange_ , he thought. Pocketing both, he exited the room and locked the door from the outside. His Dark Mark burned on his left arm; he was marginally confused, as to how his little wife had paid it no mind. Yet, Antonin found himself more curious as to the reasoning for summoning. Conjuring his Deatheater esemble, he quickly disapparated. The Dark Lord did not like being kept waiting.

* * *

Apparating outside Malfoy Manor, Antonin strode past the dying gardens and into the entrance hall. Kicking a house-elf out of his way, he entered the dining room to find himself the centre of attention. "Antonin, come. Sit with us," Lord Voldemort said as the Deatheater bowed. It wasn't a request. The Dark Lord's appearance didn't bother him as much as other Deatheaters; the quest for power had sacrifices. Lord Voldemort sacrificed his charming looks and previously his life; Crouch Jr had lost his sanity, as had Bellatrix - the crazy bitch.

Taking his seat between the Lestrange brothers, Antonin waited patiently. "I trust that your nuptials were consummated last night..." Lord Voldemort stated. Antonin nodded. _Should I broach the potion matter with the Dark Lord_ , he thought. "Yes, my Lord. However, I suspect that Snape gave her a Lust Potion," Antonin decided to say. The Dark Lord raised an eyebrow and turned to Snape. "Is this true, Severus?" Voldemort questioned, demandingly.

Severus hid his confusion. He hadn't given Hermione any potions. Keeping his mental shield's up, he reflected on the wedding. Lust Potions only lasted an hour, so Hermione would have taken it after she and Antonin had disapparated. Unless, it had been Narcissa. She meant well, but she often forgot that he would be the first suspect if the potion was discovered. "It is, my Lord," Snape admitted, falsely.

"Explain."

"Mrs Dolohov would have fought too much for a marginally pleasant evening. So, I gave her a vial of Lust Potion to make the evening quicker and easier. I apologies, my Lord," Snape apologised. Silence met his unnecessary apology. It was a punishable offence to interfere in a member of the Sacred Twenty-Eight's marriage. "Come here, Severus," the Dark Lord ordered. As Snape obeyed his the dark wizard, everyone knew what it meant. Bellatrix gleefully clapped her bony hands together, Yaxley smirked and so did Antonin.

* * *

Light POV -

Hermione awoke alone. Looking around the room, she noticed her wedding gown by the bathroom door; some of her husband's clothes folded on a chair, his pants and boxers missing. The lack of a warm body in the queen-sized bed, made her realised her new husband must have gone to do something characteristically dark. Deatheater stuff as Ron would call it. That was when it hit her. Last night had seen the consummation of her marriage. _I acted like such a wanton slut!_ Hermione thought, tears rolling down her cheeks. It was so unlike her. _What would Harry and Ron think?!_

Wrapping the green silk bedsheet around her, Hermione manoeuvred herself off the bed; noticing a dull ache between her legs. A reminder of the previous night. _How many times do I have to sleep with him?_ Hermione thought. Maybe she could brew a fertility potion to speed up the process, then she wouldn't have to go near him for a while, right? Walking to the bathroom, she approached the full length mirror. She gasped, the tears starting again.

Adorning her neck were little lovebites, as well as a large bruising bitemark. "Oh Merlin," she whispered, prodding the tender flesh lightly. Dropping the bed sheet, she evaluated the new marks. Large hand-shaped bruises decorated her hips and legs, more lovebites down her breasts and stomach. Remembering Narcissa's words, Hermione thought it safe to say last night had been gentle. And it was certainly memorable, even through her hazy mindset.

Unable to look anymore, Hermione climbed into the ornate shower before turning it on. Her tears mingled with the water. Washing herself with the male soap, she paid close attention to her thighs. Dried semen had riveted down during the night and now decorated her thighs. Disgusting, Hermione thought. Climbing out, and drying herself on a fluffy red towel; she left the bathroom, wrapped in the ironic towel. _A Slytherin with a red towel_ , she laughed to herself. Due to returning to Hogwarts the later that day, she had forgone bringing any other clothes with her. Therefore she was stood naked, albeit covering her modesty, completely lost. "What am I meant to wear?" Hermione asked the empty bedroom.

Appearing on the bed with a _pop_ , was a dress and underwear. They looked nice enough, so she put them on without question. Her dress fell mid-thigh, higher than she was used too - and revealed a little more clevage. Yet, she found they was her only quarms with it; a black dress that had three-quarter length sleeves, with light green accents along the hem. Deciding to try and find her husband, Hermione strode to the door. Only to find it locked. Banging on the door, she tried to open the it again. Running to where her dress lay, she checked the inner pocket up the skirt for her wand and D.A. galleon. Hermione found neither. Weaponless, she realised that she was now just a prisoner. The tears started once again. She was just a prisoner bound by marriage.

* * *

 **AN3: Chapter six done! What would you like to have happen next? Hermione go back to Hogwarts or be told she has to stay at Dolohov manor a little longer and attend a Deatheater meeting?**


	7. Chapter 7: Violent Impressions

**AN: It annoys me to say, but I don't own Harry Potter. Otherwise, I would have Antonin Dolohov in my bed. Yummy!**

 **AN2: Little rant...why don't any of the reviewers answer the questions I ask? It helps me decide which way you want the story to go and none of you let me know.**

* * *

Dark POV -

The first Crucio always hurt the least. Very little reason to scream, and yet, Snape gave a small whimper. Antonin had noticed he only did it when under the Dark Lord's curse. Never anybody else, why? Snape raised more questions than answers, as did Little Bird. Seeing Snape writhing about on the polished floor brought a smirk to his face. _Serves him right for interfering._ However, it didn't add up. Why would Snape give Little Bird a potion to help with the night?

Deatheaters were known to prefer a woman who struggled and screamed. His little wife screamed alright, screamed in pleasure. Antonin had struggled to relate to his comrades; his father had been fractionally 'nicer' than most Pureblood fathers. Giving him what he wanted, teaching him to play Quidditch. He often found himself missing his parents. Would he be anything like them? Would Hermione be a good mother? _Of course_ , he thought, _she excels in everything. Why would motherhood be any different?_

Once the Dark Lord had finished punishing Snape with the cruciatus curse, Antonin found himself the centre of attention again. "How soon do you believe it will be before she becomes pregnant?" Voldemort interrogated, as Snape returned to his seat, twitching as he did.

"We are both young, my lord, I doubt it will take long," he replied his accent thickening in his arrogance.

"We cannot afford to have the Mudblood by Potter's side, I want all the Order's secrets out of her!" His fellow Deatheaters nodded, all were eager to get rid of Potter and the Order. "Of course, I understand. There are some secrets that my 'intelligent' wife is yet to learn about our marriage."

* * *

Light POV -

Having been unable to open the door, Hermione pulled herself off the floor and began investigating the room. Storm grey walls surrounded her. It's too dark in here, she thought. The bed dominated the room; it was gorgeous. A few bookshelves decorated the walls. Upon further investigation, Hermione discovered they were muggle books; some on marriage, some on parenting, and some were horror stories. _How funny_ , she thought, married life with Dolohov will be a horror story, _so will having his children_. Picking up a book, she didn't bother analysising the rest of the room. Looking at the cover, she noticed that she had picked 'Dr Jerkyll and Mr Hyde' by Robert Stevenson. Dolohov could probably relate to the character of Hyde. A small giggle escaped her lips. "I'm going to go mad here, I just know it," she spoke aloud, tears springing to her eyes as she thought of the worst scenarios. Hermione sat on the edge of the bed, and continued to read - not moving until Antonin returned.

* * *

When Antonin entered the bedroom, he was greeted to fists hitting his chest weakly. _Ah_ , he thought humourously, _someone is upset_. "You bastard! You locked me in," Hermione screamed, "you jacked up, evil, rapist Deatheater!" The Deatheater snarled. How dare this lowly witch insult him in such a way? "You are mine. My possession. My reward," he snarled, raising his hand and backhanding her across her face, "I can do what I fucking want!"

The petite witch hit the floor, clutching her cheek; eyes wide in fear. Dolohov was angry. No, he was furious. Not good. Narcissa had warned her against making the Russian wizard angry. The outcome wouldn't be good for her. Fisting her curly tresses, Dolohov pulled her to her feet; using the grip to throw her on the bed. "Listen hear Mudblood, you're not going back to Dumbledore or your precious Order without being pregnant first," he growled in her ear, "Better start now. The Dark Lord has ordered it."

Hermione struggled, trying to dislodge him from his position on top of her. When pushing against his broad chest failed, she attempted to slap him across his face. Grabbing her wrists, the huge Deatheater pinned them above her head. _No!_ Hermione thought, _he's going to rape me!_ Tears sprung to her eyes, as her brutal husband ripped her dress off her body, leaving her open to his scrutiny. "Nice tits for a Mudblood," he commented, as he roughly fondled her breasts. He landed a harsh bite to the lightly tanned swell, making her cry out. The bite made her stomach clench. _Why am I feeling this?!_ Hermione thought.

He vanished their clothes with a wave of his wand, and cast 'Incarcerous' on her wrists - leaving her bound to the headboard. Seeing him naked with his member fully erect was terrifying; it was undeniable that he was attractive. Yet, in her minds eye, Hermione could see him looming over her - looking monsterous. She didn't have time to react as Dolohov knelt by her head, and thrust into her mouth. "Bite it and I'll hurt you in a much worse way," Dolohov ordered. Hermione found herself unable to fight back, instead going limp - her mouth being used for Dolohov's pleasure. His cock was brutally entering her throat with each thrust, whilst he groaned and her tears rolled down her cheeks. "Mudblood's are always good at sucking cock," he remarked. Hermione couldn't breathe. Sucking gently, she prayed it would be over soon.

After what seemed like forever, Dolohov moved away from her mouth; allowing her to breathe properly. Dolohov thrust into her body. The dry intrusion hurt! The witch screamed in pain, he felt huge without being prepared. "Nice tight cunt you've got, bitch," the Deatheater groaned. Thrusting into her young body, Dolohov bit any part of her torso he could reach. Pulling out, he flipped her over and thrust in again; she felt even tighter now.

Her traitorous body was enjoying it, and begun to get wet. "Please stop," Hermione pleaded. Dolohov laughed sinisterly. "No. Your little cunt is enjoying this, enjoying being a fuck toy." He pounded into her, tearing her apart - the grip on her hips was painful. "Look at that little asshole," Dolohov growled in her ear, her body clenching around him, "I will fuck you in that hole too, you like that idea, don't you? My own little slut, aren't you?" Hermione peaked, before passing out. Dolohov's own thrusts becoming erratic, before slipping into her warmth. Leaving himself inside her, he fell asleep - forgetting to untie her hands.

* * *

 **AN3: Short chapter today, sorry! I had writer's block, but I know what will happen for the next few chapters. Do you want another rape scene in the next chapter or show what's happening everywhere else e.g. The Order?**


	8. Chapter 8: Catching up, raised questions

**AN: I don't own Harry Potter.**

 **AN2: At the request at some readers, there will be an explaination as to the events in chapter 7, and there will be an update as to what is happening in the Order.**

 **AN3: Thank you to marianna79 for her humungous review! It helped me with this chapter a lot!**

* * *

 _ **Light POV - The Order**_

A tall figure stumbled towards the front door of 12 Grimmauld Place, clutching the intense pain in his side. It was Snape. Being a spy really is a pain, the figure thought as he panted. If Narcissa wasn't one of his closest friends, he would never have covered for her. _How could she have been so idiotic_ , he thought, _brewing a Lust Potion! Of course, Dolohov was going to notice, he wasn't a dunderhead like most Deatheaters._ Weakly, he knocked on the door; the oak opening within seconds. Light flooded his face as he stepped into the house. His already sallow face held a light pallor, and his muscles visibly twitched.

"Severus!" Molly Weasley exclaimed, rushing to aid him to sit. He felt weak, though it did not prevent him from glaring at the maternal matriarch. The other Order members gathered around him, eager for information on Voldemort. Remus came forward holding a Pain-Relief Potion; snatching it out of the werewolf's hands, Snape downed the potion. The ache in his bones lessened, and the twitching ceased.

"What happened Severus?" Dumbledore questioned, the twinkle gone from his blue eyes.

"The Dark Lord wished for an update on the Dolohov's. With a particular interest in when Mrs Dolohov would become pregnant," Snape replied. Silence followed; the present Order members afraid of voicing Voldemort's intentions.

"He intends to keep Hermione out of the war and away from the Order, doesn't he?" Tonks commented quietly, her hair turning white. It was obvious that Tonks was right; without Hermione's input, Harry would struggle to defeat Voldemort. She was the brains of the Golden Trio, Harry wouldn't be able to cope with the research and the war.

"Dolohov requested a few extra days with his new wife," Dumbledore announced, just as Snape opened his mouth to speak again. Of all the Order members, Remus and Arthur protested to the announcement. Both viewed Hermione as a daughter, and it pained them to know she was bound to a homicidal Deatheater. "However, I believe there is a high chance that Mrs Dolohov will be returning to Hogwarts next week." Silence followed.

* * *

 _ **Light POV - Harry**_

To say that Harry Potter was scared, was a severe understatement. He was terrified. The raven haired wizard sat on his bed at Grimmauld Place, his head in his hands as he awaited news of his best friend. _Was she alright? Would she return to Hogwarts and help with the war?_ In that moment, Harry couldn't care less about the war - he just wanted Mione back, his best friend and sister. The thought of her, possibly being treated like a prisoner, brought tears to his green eyes.

A knock at the door startled him from his thoughts. Rising and opening the door, Harry saw it was Ron. His gangly ginger friend had developed a permanent downcast look on his face, likely the product of potentially losing Hermione in the clutches of a Deatheater.

"Mum wants us downstairs..." Ron muttered, trailing off at the sight of the tears in Harry's eyes. Putting a hand on the shorter boy's shoulder, he said, "We _will_ get her back, we won't lose Hermione.

* * *

 _ **Neutral POV -**_

Hermione awoke alone on the bed. Her hands unbound, she was fully dressed and she wasn't in any pain. Hadn't Antonin forced himself on her last night? Her husband appeared from the bathroom, leaning against the doorframe - a towel in hand. "You're awake..." Antonin murmured, his face giving away his unmasked concern. Fear shone in the witch's eyes. _What happened to make her fear me? With such fear, she may never love me,_ he would be the exception to his family. Hermione was confused, very confused.

"What happened last night? It's hazy," she asked quietly. Large purple bruises littered her arms - making Antonin think back to the early morning. Seeing hand-shaped bruises on her hips and cheek fit the profile of his large hands - he had harmed the petite witch, his Little Bird. He was disgusted with himself. Yet, he couldn't remember anything beyond entering their bedroom and becoming angry at her attempted assault.

* * *

 **When Antonin had returned to Dolohov Manor and entered the bedroom, he felt his consciousness shoved to the back of his mind. Hermione weakly beat his chest; he felt his anger rising. He thought he was in control of that rage. Trapped in his mind, Antonin was oblivious to the damages his body had done to the petite witch. Later that night, his mind had become his own once more - a blank space in his memories. Returning to his mind, Antonin found his little wife in a bad state.**

 **Petite hands bound tightly to the headboard, the slim digits becoming increasing red and angry. If he had returned to his own mind any later, her hands could have been permanently damaged. She would have never been able to hold her wand if the damage had been permanent. Antonin had massaged her hands until the redness had faded.**

 **Waving his wand, a wash-cloth had levitated from the bathroom and into his hand. Soaking it in a stream of of water from his wand, Antonin gently wiped the dried semen and blood from her thighs - tenderly, caring for his little wife. Summoning clothes from the wardrobe, he dressed her in one of his black shirts and a pair of his boxers - wishing to cover the evidence of his attack on her young body. Antonin knew that none of his care would make up for his actions.**

* * *

Hermione waited for Antonin's answer. "I was angry, I would never harm you...yet, I did," he explained, "Hermione, last night I was not myself." It was the first time he had called her by actual name, instead of that ridiculous nickname.

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked, staring at her husband - he had perched on the end of the huge bed. She resisted the urge to shuffle further up the bed. "Hermione," Antonin began, moving closer to her, "you have to believe me…it was like I didn't have control of my body and when I got control back..."

Antonin reached his hand out to her, and she flinched away. That hurt to see; he was trying to apologise in the way his father did with his mother after shouting at her. Persisting in his actions, his palm came to rest gently on her face. Hermione didn't breathe, sitting like a staute - as the large hand carressed her bruised cheek. The look in his dark eyes clearly screamed of an apology, but she couldn't bring herself to accept it...yet.

* * *

 **AN4: In this chapter, we saw a different side of Dolohov and got to see what was happening in the Order. Let me know what you'd like to see in the next chapter.**


	9. Chapter 9: Gifting the Beauty

**AN: I don't own Harry Potter.**

 **AN2: This is a mix of a filler and a fluffy chapter - but I really like it.**

* * *

 _ **Neutral POV -**_

Hermione rose from the giant bed and made in the direction of the ensuite bathroom, only to be stopped by a hand on her arm. Turning to face her husband, she found herself breathless. Antonin wore a look of tenderness across his masculine features.

"If you would like, I can give you a tour of the manor," he offered, his hand dropping to her slim fingers. There was no harm in knowing one's surroundings. The silence in the room was crushing Antonin. _Please_ , he thought, _perhaps I can make her smile_. Having deliberated in her mind, Hermione finally nodded. Bringing her fingers up to his lips, he placed a feather-light kiss on her knuckles.

Her heart fluttered in her chest. _Why did you do that?_ Hermione mentally cursed her heart. Reaching into his back pocket, Antonin withdrew her vine wand. "There are clothes in the wardrobe for you," he stated, before rising from the bed. Forcing herself to not move away, Hermione slowly met his dark eyes. He towered over her; he tucked a curl behind her ear and left the room.

* * *

 _ **Hermione POV**_

A sigh of relief escaped from her lips. Hermione couldn't deny that he was handsome, exuding an aura of power and strength - he was a predator, like a panther. When he moved, it hadn't been lost on her that he prowled sleekly - the muscles beneath his shirt rolling. Shaking her head, Hermione entered the bathroom and climbed into the shower.

Emerging from the steam filled room, wrapped in the fluffy red towel with her hair secured with her wand, Hermione approached the wardrobe. She attempted opening it. The mahogany refused to move. She tried again. The results were the same as before. Her patience was wearing thin; her locks tumbling down her shoulders, as she whipped her wand through the air.

"Bombarda!" Hermione yelled. Shards of mahogany wood fluttered to her feet. At least it is open, she thought. Masculinity and femininity glared at her, an obvious border between the clothes. There was a significant lack of trousers, only dresses and skirts.

"Typical bigot Pureblood men," she growled under her breath as she grabbed an azure summer dress. Casting a wordless 'Reparo', Hermione watched the wooden shards patch together and reattach to the door. All evidence of the charm had been erased; she adorned the dress - silently praising the choice of the buyer. A quick drying charm to her damp curls; her hair falling glossy and bouncy.

* * *

 _ **Antonin POV**_

Leaving the bedroom was difficult for Antonin. He wanted to envelope her in his arms, and litter her face with butterfly kisses - just to apologise for his actions. Yet, in his heart, Antonin knew that Hermione wouldn't let him.

That day in Dumbledore's office, the old coot had informed him of Hermione's passion for books and knowledge. In under a week and 32,000 Galleons later, the mansion had been renovated to provide Hermione with her own personal space.

Clicking his fingers, Antonin waited for a fraction of a second for a house-elf to materialise before him. "Fern, prepare lunch for myself and my wife. Have it set in the library in a few hours," he ordered. The female house-elf bowed to her master before disappearing.

He knocked on the oak doors gently. "Little Bird, can I come in?" Antonin asked, his ear to the door. Light footsteps approached the door before it was pulled open, revealing Hermione's petite form. She looked exquisite, dressed in a knee-length blue summer dress. _I must remember to send a letter of thanks to Lucius' wife_ , he thought, _she has excellent taste_.

"May I escort you on the tour?" Antonin asked chivalrously, offering his arm to her. Acting like a gentleman had been ingrained into him since birth, and now he could put into practice. Hermione nodded shyly, placing her arm in the crook of her elbow. Jolts of electricity raced through his body at her touch. Despite the determined look on her angelic face, Antonin could still feel her shaking.

* * *

 _ **Neutral POV -**_

The tour began in the gardens. Outside the mansion, the sheer size of the mansion was revealed. Climbing ivy scaled the western side of the mansion, constrasting starkly with the ice white bricks.

"Dolohov Mansion is over 300 years old making it it the youngest of any Pureblood estates. It is one of the largest, rivaling with the Lestange Estate," Antonin lectured. Hermione gaped in awe. With Antonin leading the way around the gardens, Hermione couldn't help but feel dwarfed by all the exotic plants. Flowers of every possible colour waved at her in the light breeze; some towering over her miniscule height.

"My mother loved Herbology. This was all her work, although Father would try and claim some credit - mostly for just buying the plants," Antonin reminised fondly.

"What were your parents like?" Hermione asked, as she turned to him with a tender look. A small smile crept onto his face, memories swimming before his eyes.

"My parents were unlike any other Purebloods. They married for love, not some political scheme. They were doting parents; playing with me, teaching me about the world," Antonin answered, "Mother would insist on my help in the garden, and then complain when I began throwing mud at the house-elves. Father would watch and laugh, before sprinkling leaves over Mother's hair."

"They sound wonderful," Hermione commented. Envy crept into her mind. The former heads of the family had married for love, just as she had dreamed she would - yet, she was bound in a loveless marriage. Antonin nodded, gesturing towards the front door.

* * *

Rooms swept by, most were rarely used. Eight sitting rooms, four parlors and a dusty ballroom later, Hermione was ready to collapse. Her feet ached from walking, but she didn't want to stop, in case it angered Antonin. More rooms whisked past, the mansion was a maze of corridors and rooms. She counted twenty-nine bedrooms throughout the mansion, each with their own bathrooms.

After three hours of walking, her husband stopped. "We can resume the tour tomorrow if you would like?" Antonin asked, concern etching itself on his face - taking note of her slight limp. Blisters had formed on her feet, and painfully pushed against the confining ballet shoes. Hermione nodded, eager to rest her feet. "I would like to show you one final room," he stated.

Concealed in the East Wing of the mansion was the renovated library. Taking a few turns, Antonin stopped them before the doors. Emblazed on the oak was a large wolf - resting in the jaws was a cobra. The Dolohov emblem - Snape had told her about it. Pulling her hand forward, Antonin held it to the oak. A faint vibration ran through her body.

"The doors only open when they register a Dolohov's magic signature," Antonin explained. Her hand fell to her side once again, as the doors swung open to reveal its treasures. Hermione gaped in wonder and shock.

Bookcases filled the room; spiral staircases leading to second and third floors of knowledge packed books. Aged parchment and dried ink filled her nose as she slowly entered the room. The walls were pale blue, gradually darkening the closer it got to the crystal chandelier. Gold accents reflected tiny rays of light; her ballet shoes clicked on the lamenated flooring. Each piece of wood polished to perfection. A few books floated over to a table in the centre of the room. Antonin smiled; seeing his young wife speechless, her eyes glinting with happiness made his heart flutter.

Atop the table, was a tray bearing food. Green grapes, cucumber finger sandwiches and glasses of elvish wine enticed her. Having gone over twelve hours without eating, Hermione's stomach rumbled on cue.

"Sit, you must eat, Little Bird. We have walked for many hours, you should rest," Antonin suggested, gesturing to the wingback chairs. Taking a seat, Hermione picked at the food immediately - catching herself before she caused herself any embarrassment.

"Why did you want to show me the library so much?" Hermione asked, intently watching her husband's face. He took a sip of his glass of wine before he answered.

"I intended it to be my wedding present to you. The day we sealed our proposal, Dumbledore mentioned in the passing your passion for books and knowledge. That sealed my decision - you would require a space that you could feel completely at ease, so I chose the library," Antonin explained.

Hermione felt touched. _He is giving me the entire library_ , she thought. Tears welled in her whiskey eyes; no one had given her such an extravagant gift. It reminded her of her favourite story, the fairytale of a beauty and a beast - a life she was now living. Rising from her seat, Hermione approached her husband.

"Thank you," she whispered. Leaning down she brushed her lips on his cheek; a feather-light touch. Antonin didn't move - he was a wolf and she was a deer, one move would startle her. Drawing away, he was surprised to see a light blush on her pale cheeks, drawing his attention to the little scar on her cheek. Antonin decided in that moment that a drop of her blood would never be drawn again - he would ensure it.

* * *

 **AN3: Think of the library as being like Admont Abbey's library - the same one that the Beast library is modelled after in Beauty and the Beast.**


	10. Chapter 10: Revealing and Understanding

**AN: I don't own Harry Potter.**

 **AN2: It's been too long! Like, I genuinely forgot where I was going with this story - I had to read my own story to jump my memory! But, I don't know when I can update after this chapter because I'm back to college now.**

 **AN3: Okay, so technically it is still their first full day together. Very domestic and slight fluff...I think. The story will start to speed up more from here, otherwise it would be a couple of hundred chapters long.**

* * *

 _ **Neutral POV -**_

Silence filled the library as they ate. Discreet glances passed between the newlyweds. No words were uttered. It was surprisingly comfortable.

"Would you like to stay in the library until dinner? I have some errands to take care off, and I wouldn't wish boredom upon you," Antonin asked. Hermione looked up from her plate, picked up her goblet and sipped some of her wine.

"I doubt I would be bored, but perhaps I should. Then I'm out of your way," she answered, daintily dabbing her lips with her napkin. Antonin nodded. After clicking his long fingers, a small house-elf materialised before the couple. Hermione gasped in horror. The house-elf wore a slightly sullied green pillowcase, with tiny socks on her feet. Bowing low, the elf awaited orders.

"Fern, meet your new mistress. See to it that she gets everything she needs whilst I am otherwise occupied," Antonin ordered. The elf bowed to Hermione, who cringed outwardly. Panic took over the tiny elf.

"Mistress Dolohov hates Fern! Fern's appearance makes Mistress Dolohov uncomfortable!" Fern cried, flinging herself to the polished floor in hysterics. Tears spilled down her cheeks, as she dragged herself to Hermione's feet.

"No! You don't make me uncomfortable. Please, stop crying," Hermione pleaded as she knelt down before the teary elf. Placing a hand on the elf's shoulder, she rubbed the bony joint in comfort. Jerking her head up, Fern abruptly stopped crying.

"Mistress Dolohov is touching Fern! Mistress Dolohov is soiling her hands by touching a lowly house-elf!" Fern exclaimed, hurriedly rising to her feet. Clicking her fingers, a bowl of water and a cloth appeared before Hermione. Sensing her discomfort, Antonin rose to his feet.

"You are dismissed, Fern. For making your mistress uncomfortable by your snivelling, you are to resume your previous duties. Another elf will be Mrs Dolohov's personal assistant. Be gone!" Antonin ordered sternly. Tears leapt back into Fern's wide eyes, her large ears dropping.

"Yes, Master. Fern shall go and punish herself," she mumbled before disappearing in a faint _pop_! Turning back to his wife, Antonin was greeted by a scowl across her delicate features. His mother used to give his father the same look. It was the universal look of an annoyed woman.

"There was no need for that! She didn't understand," Hermione vented. It was ridiculous, how one individual could assume to know what would make their spouse comfortable. Slavery never sat well with Hermione.

"Fern can be very unstable for a house-elf. I would not wish for you to be accidently or intentionally harmed. I shall get a new house-elf and have her assume the duties of your personal elf," Antonin explained, hoping to put the subject to rest. Hermione nodded in agreement.

"If you are set on doing that, then I have a few clauses to add..." Hermione said, looking just over his shoulder. "The elf will have proper clothing, not rags or a pillow case, trousers and a shirt or a dress. They will get at least get half a day off per week; trial and error means I know they won't accept anymore time off. And finally, the only house-elf I will accept currently works at Hogwarts...her name is Winky."

Antonin was astounded. "The former Crouch elf?! Absolutely not! She will most likely be insane by now, having gone so long without a witch or wizard to be bonded too," he said. In Hermione's mind, she carefully considered how she would reply to his comment.

"I know Winky, and she knows me...albiet reluctantly. I want to help her, it would be a great comfort to have an elf that I know. Please, Antonin...I'm not the type to ask for material possessions, but I'm begging you to hire her," Hermione pleaded, whiskey eyes wide and focused on his own dark orbs. Seeing her making eye contact made him feel warm, those bewitching eyes like the purest amber, made him nod his head in affirmative. A wide, white and wonderful smile lit her face.

Deep within his flesh, a burning began in his arm. Such a wonderful moment to be disrupted by the Dark Lord. Glancing at his pocket-watch, the interruption was surprisingly late. Antonin's forementioned 'errands' were a series of interrogations, of two captured Order members for his Master. Not wishing to disgust his wife by announcing the Dark Lord's summons, Antonin stood from his chair.

"I may not be back in time for dinner, but the elves will cook whatever you wish. I will not be too late, and I ask of you to wait up for me. Having enjoyed your company today, I wish to know more about my little wife," Antonin announced, stroking the apple of her cheek. Disappointment covered her face, it was apparent that she had also enjoyed their time together.

Bowing low at the waist, and placing a light kiss to her slightly tanned cheek, Antonin swept from the room - masking the searing pain in his arm and heart. Hermione was left alone, a growing pull at her heart as Antonin disappeared.

* * *

 _ **Dark POV -**_

Interogations were always messy. Blood pooled in the cracks of the stone floor; dripping down the walls, making the stone appear as if it were bleeding. No answers were revealed by the first Auror - Antonin hoped that the second wizard would be brighter than his deceased cell mate. Sitting on a throne to the side was the Dark Lord. Nagini coiled up by his feet, tongue flicking impatiently.

Antonin had rolled up his black sleeves, not wishing to have them saturated by the plasma. The heavy oak door creaked open, revealing Wormtail and the second prisoner. A lowly blood-traitor with an unremarkable face. Nothing distinctive about him, he would be easily forgotten. A thick rope was tied tightly around his neck, dark bruises littering his visible limbs as Wormtail pulled him along.

Antonin smirked evilly. His favourite part had arrived. Transfiguring an inconspicious stone in a wooden chair, Antonin waited for the prisoner to be seated. Wormtail hurriedly strapped the wizard to the chair. A wave of Antonin's wand prevented the prisoner from feeling anything, another small wave left him paralysed. Extracting a series of thin needles from his pocket, Antonin twirled one between his fingers.

"I read about a type of torture that can slowly lead a man towards insanity. You are going to give the Dark Lord the answers that he desires," Antonin explained, his accent strong in his excitement, "if you fail to do so...it will not be a pleasant death for you."

A dark chuckle arose from each of the dark wizards. Wormtail snuck from the room, pulling the heavy door shut behind him: trapping the pained screams inside.

* * *

 _ **Light POV -**_

The hours trickled by, and Hermione became engrossed in a book she had found on wizarding weddings. Originally, she planned on ignoring it. Yet, she felt drawn towards knowing more about her wedding. Curled up on a small couch, she began to read.

Handfastings were traditionally done naked, and would be followed immediately by the consummating of the marriage before the witnesses. Hermione blushed at that. _Thank goodness_ , she thought, _I would have died of embarrassment_. Historically, handfasting ceremonies were for different purposes - from ensuring fidelity, to bonding with property. Husbands could order their wives to give them information; but, handfastings had become rarer since the late 18th century.

A small passage caught the witch's eye. "It became increasingly popular for wizards to experience memory loss, until the conception of a child. Typically, this loss of memory would occur most evenings - the accounts of their wives shared a common aspect. Each of the witches spoke of a violent sexual assault, many of which concieved their first child during the attack. However, some incidents allegedly occurred once," Hermione read aloud to herself. It was peculiar: having been assaulted the night previous, she became increasingly worried.

 _Had Antonin fallen victim to the handfasting strange curse? Could it be called a curse? What if she became pregnant due to the rape?_ Questions raced through her mind - her vision swam, heart pounding in her chest as she struggled to breathe. The book fell from her hands as she slumped forward. Her head hit the polished floor.

* * *

Hermione awoke in the library, laying on the couch. Unsure of how she got there, she looked around to see Fern - wringing her bandaged hands nervously. Her companion shocked Hermione the most.

A petite girl, dressed in a blue floor-length dress, stared at her. Black hair curled around her thin shoulders. Her feet didn't touch the floor, nor did she possess the spark of life in her eyes. Small downturned lips screamed of pain and sadness. Hermione knew instantly: the girl was a ghost. Antonin never mentioned a ghost residing in the mansion, leaving the witch slightly unnerved.

"Mistress! You are awake!" Fern exclaimed, noticing Hermione's alertness. The high pitch of the elf's voice grated her ears. Cringing, she prodded the small lump that had formed on her temple; before rubbing her chest as the ache appeared again.

"Fern, aren't you going to introduce me? And could you get me a Pain-Relieving Potion? My head is pounding," Hermione asked, gesturing to the ghost. Fern clicked her fingers, and a goblet of pumpkin juice appeared on the table. Hermione figured that the potion was in the juice; it was a foul flavoured potion.

"This is Miss Dragomira, Master Dolohov's only sister," Fern answered, "she resides in the library, and got Fern when Mistress Dolohov was hurt."

A shy wave came from the little ghost; Hermione responded with one of her own. A quirk of the ghost lips gave Hermione the confidence to address her directly.

"It's nice to meet you, Dragomira. I'm Hermione," she introduced politely. Dragomira opened her mouth; however, no sound came out. Unlike the Hogwarts ghosts, she was sompletely mute. Dragomira smiled sadly.

"Miss Dragomira is pleased to meet you, Mistress. But, she must go before Master comes home," Fern interrupted, disrupting the silence. The petite ghost faded away from sight, a faintly icy breeze passed over the library's residents.

* * *

 _ **Neutral POV**_

Antonin arrived home earlier than he had stated. At his feet, stood a drunken elf. Swaying forward, it's nose brushed the polished floor. The wizard called an elf to remove the disgrace from his sight.

"Olaf!" Antonin called, knowing that the eldest elf wouldn't need to be told his orders. The drunk elf disappeared from besides him, as Olaf went to work.

Believing his wife to be in the library still, he made for the extravagant room. Dragon-hide boots clicked on the immaculate flooring, as the mansion's master banished his Deatheater garb. Taking the occasional shortcut, he reached the carved doors of his Little Bird's personal room. But, the room was empty.

"Fern!" Antonin shouted, worrying for his wife's whereabouts. The elf appeared before her Master, eyes glued to the floor. "Where is my wife?"

"Mistress Dolohov is in the master bedroom with a few books. Mistress was teaching...she was teaching Fern to read," she answered, her voice quivering in fear. The wizard nodded, barely acknowledging that his wife was trying to educate his elves.

Antonin swept away from the elf, striding purposefully towards the shared bedroom. He was eager to spend time with his wife. It was tragic. A feared Deatheater, who had seen her as a reward, wanted to connect with his wife. _Was it love?_ It couldn't be, it was much too fast.

Opening the door, Antonin became entranced by the image of his wife. Knelt on the rug, books strewn around her, Hermione appeared to be making notes in a journal. Occasionally, she would nibble the end of her quill.

"What are you doing, Little Bird?" Antonin asked, startling the witch. Whirling round, Hermione took in the mirth filled eyes of her husband. Silently, she gave a sigh of relief, as the ache in her chest lifted.

"You're back," she answered. Antonin nodded, sitting down on the edge of the bed. Unlacing and removing his boots, he gestured to his wife to sit beside him. Leaning against the pillows, he waited as his wife tidied her mess. Neatly, she stacked the books and laid the parchment to dry; before joining him.

"You and I have to get to know each other, since we are to be together for a while," Antonin said, grasping her right hand in his. Hermione nodded, her curly tresses bouncing as she remembered their earlier conversation.

"Muggles have a game that gives each player twenty questions that they ask the other. For example, I could ask you what your favorite book is and you would give your reply," she outlined. Antonin nodded in understanding.

* * *

A few hours later, the couple had fallen asleep. Antonin's front was pressed against Hermione's back, his arm draped across her waist - their fingers entwined. Hermione fell asleep contently, having seen a humanity of her Deatheater husband.

* * *

 **AN4: Okay, so there may be a slight case of Stockholm Syndrome with Hermione, and she's going to fall pregnant quite quickly. Do you want Hermione to go dark or turn Antonin light? I'm more partial to Hermione going grey and there being secrets amongst the Order...Let me know!**


	11. Chapter 11

**AN: Okay, so a lot of you like the idea of Hermione going grey. That's the idea I'm going with, for later on in the story. This is a monster chapter for me, to tie you all over until I have the time to right the next one.**

 **AN2: Time lapse now. Hermione going to be returning to Hogwarts and tries to cope with retuning to lessons.**

* * *

 **Light POV –**

She had been married for two weeks. Dumbledore had allowed their 'honeymoon' to be extended, if it could be called that. Bruises littered her arms and face – the product of angering her husband. After the night of neutrality, Hermione thought she understood him a little better, but she had been wrong. Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde had nothing compared to Antonin Dolohov's unprovoked mood changes. He was enigmatic, cocky and deliberately cruel; yet, she saw the kindness that remained buried underneath. A lasting light of innocence in him that stayed protected by his malice and cruelty – only appearing when talking of his parents.

Hermione couldn't wait to return to Hogwarts – the familiarity of the grand castle would provide the break she needed to contemplate her emotions. She was to return that day, and yet, she found herself worried. Adaptable as she was, Hermione knew that returning to Hogwarts and the Order wouldn't be able to protect her against the ever-confusing Antonin Dolohov.

The thing that drew her from her slumber, was the sound of a door opening.. Hermione stretched, sitting up in the giant bed. Sunlight streamed in through the curtains, drawing attention to the semi-nude figure of her husband. Antonin's broad chest was displayed to her curious eyes. Chiselled muscles glistened with residual water; a few stray droplets ran down his abdominal muscles, disappearing beneath the towel. Hermione's tongue darted out, catching her split bottom lip. In the back of her mind, Hermione's lust rose – as did her disgust.

"You're awake early," Antonin observed as he turned away from the wardrobe, clothes in hand. Hermione nodded, her throat dry from sleep. "You return to Hogwarts after lunch, Dumbledore wouldn't allow you anymore time off," he continued. The young bride nodded, before pushing the silk sheets from her legs and crawling to the edge of the mattress. Perching on her knees, she watched intently as Antonin buttoned a black dress shirt.

"What do we do about the Marriage Law? We're meant to see each other for seventy-two hours a we- do you have to dress in front of me?!" Hermione cut off, as Antonin dropped the towel unceremoniously. A devious smirk in place, Antonin slowly drew his boxers up his muscular thighs, repeating the process with his slacks. Hermione's mouth salivated.

 _Pop_! Fern apparated into the luxurious bedroom, with a tray laden with butter-covered pancakes. Stomach growling and rising from the bed, Hermione unburdened Fern of the tray. Clicking her bony fingers, the tiny house-elf summoned an Oxford white blouse and pleated skirt –Hermione's school uniform. Placing the tray on the polished boudoir, the witch gathered the clothing and made for the bathroom. Fully intending on soaking in the bath, she abruptly stopped when Antonin blocked her route.

"Little Bird, you don't need to dress in the bathroom," he purred as he eyed her clothing. Frowning slightly, Hermione suppressed a shiver as her husband's eyes burned with a barely hidden desire. Caressing the apple of her cheek, Antonin chuckled at her confusion.

"This is your bedroom too. Don't hide away from me," he explained. Jumbling his words in her mind, Hermione's face distorted with her disgust.

"You disgusting lecherous bastard! I can't believe that I actually thought you could be...nice!" Hermione yelled, dropping the clothing and slapping him across the face. Head snapped to the side, Hermione didn't see the change in him. She shoved past him. A large hand closed around her upper arm and Hermione found herself whirled around. Dark eyes that had held burning desire, now held an inferno of rage.

Unable to fight against the grip, Hermione stood rooted in fear with her eyes closed. Pain bloomed across her cheek as Antonin struck her. She didn't fall. It hadn't been a strong slap, but it stung.

"Don't hit me. Ever!" Antonin roared at her, before it dropped low, "Or I'll let Bellatrix 'play' with you." Tears stung her whiskey eyes at the thought of once again encountering the living embodiment of insanity. She hadn't fully returned from the day before.

* * *

 **Flashback: The day before**

 **The weight across her hip had become uncomfortable. The density of Antonin's muscles dug into her fragile skin. Hermione shifted, carefully trying to avoid waking the slumbering Deatheater.**

" **Stay still and sleep," Antonin grumbled, drawing her closer to his chest. He must have been unaware of his tight grasp, squeezing the life from her. A deranged cackle sounded from the door. Antonin bolted upright. The physical change was instantaneous; drawing his body away from Hermione's own, tensing his muscles.**

 **Turning to the door, Hermione felt fear flood her body. Before the couple, stood Bellatrix Lestrange. Wildly tangled hair piled atop her coked head, swaying dangerously as she took in the position of Antonin.**

" **Didn't want to make her sleep in a cage, like the Mudblood bitch she is?" Bellatrix questioned, the insanity showing in her sunken eyes. Drunkenly swaying, she walked around to Hermione's side of the bed.**

" **Obviously your husband must like you Mudblood cunt," the personification of insanity stated, roughly grasping Hermione's chin in her dirty hands. Leaning closely towards the younger witch, Bellatrix smirked – showing rotting teeth. Azkaban had been kinder to Antonin than it had to Bellatrix.**

" **Get up Mudblood," Bellatrix ordered, "The Dark Lord has bestowed upon me the task of ensuring Dolohov has planted a vile Half-blood in you. If he hasn't, then I'll have to watch him do it." Hermione ignored her, pulling her face from her hand. Bellatrix sneered, before smirking over the young witch's head.**

 **Pain blossomed across her scalp, hair tugged upwards. Antonin pulled sharply on a clump of curls. Hermione had no alternative but to follow the large hand in her curls as they pulled her to lie flat on her back. Bellatrix cackled at the tears welling in Hermione's eyes. The young witch willed them not to fall.**

" **Just do your task Lestrange and remove yourself from my home," Antonin sneered. The sneer didn't fit his face. Bellatrix rolled her eyes before straddling the younger witch. Withdrawing a crooked wand from her sleeve, she positioned it over Hermione's stomach.**

 **The Gryffindor turned her head away, not wanting to see the spell's result. A warmth spread across Hermione's stomach. Looking up at her husband, she was shocked to see a smirk on his face. Her breath escaped her – she was pregnant.**

" **Well, The Dark Lord shall be pleased," Bellatrix muttered, clearly disappointed by the result. Removing herself from the younger witch, the female Deatheater produced a two letters from her pocket.**

" **Instructions from the Dark Lord, and a letter from my sister for the Mud blood," she stated as she threw the letters on the bed. Twisting on her toe, she vanished with a resounding** _ **crack**_ **!**

 **Antonin released her hair, and Hermione bolted upright. Scrambling to the opposite wall, she slid to her knees and allowed the tears to grace her cheeks. Chancing a look at her husband, she was mildly shocked to see a small smile on his face.**

" **My parents' wish is now a reality. They used to say that they could never truly rest in peace until I had a family of my own...and The Dark Lord has made it happen. I promise you, Little Bird, that I shall try to be more gentle. You're fragile, more so now than before," Antonin monologued aloud, still seated upon the bed.**

* * *

Hermione was drawn from the memory by a gentle hand upon her cheek. Focusing her gaze, she saw Antonin's worried gaze – felt his calloused hand stroke her bruising cheek.

"Come back, Hermione. I apologise, I should not have struck you," the Deatheater whispered as he tucked a curl behind her ear. It served to further confuse her, he probably wasn't capable of changing his routine of hitting her – even if she was pregnant.

"You shouldn't hit me at all," Hermione stated. Antonin nodded.

"I know, it would harm the baby if you fell," he replied, misinterpreting her words. Releasing her cheek, he walked from the room; head down and half dressed.

Hours passed, before she saw Antonin again that day. Merely minutes before she was due to Floo from her library, wand in hand, the Deatheater appeared in the library. Hermione's back faced him. Hands sliding along her petite waist, he drew her close – the large hands lightly resting on her stomach. The young witch jumped in shock.

"I have spoken to Narcissa Malfoy about your pregnancy," Antonin began, "and have written to Professor Slughorn about brewing you specific pre-natal potions. We cannot have our little one being weak now, can we?"

"I hate you. I'd rather die than bring your spawn into this world," Hermione muttered absentmindedly. She didn't care about what he wanted to do; she needed to go back to Hogwarts and see if a loophole in the Marriage Law had been found. Pulling away from him, Hermione approached the Floo. Without a glance or word to her husband, she Flooed back to Hogwarts.

* * *

 **Dark POV –**

The moment Hermione left through the Floo, Antonin began to worry. The feeling of unease spread through his body – was it at her absence or was he feeling more for the little witch? It was clear she despised him, and hadn't said more than a handful of words to him in the last two days. _What if she tries to kill our child?_ Antonin frantically thought, _will her despise continue onto our baby? Mamka, Papka...what do I do?_

Dragomira's spectral form condensed beside him, her child-like features immortalised as a ghost. After the murder of his sister, Antonin had become withdrawn and had chosen to follow Lord Voldemort for revenge. Reaching to rest a tiny hand millimetres from his cheek, she gave him a small smile. From that smile, Antonin knew what his sister wished to say – _Hermione would never harm their baby_.

* * *

 **AN3: After hearing about the tragic passing of Alan Rickman, I sobbed my heart out. It is such a sad thought that the world has lost an amazing star. Even though I never saw any of his other films, I just know in my heart that every one of his characters were perfectly played. He will forever be Severus Snape, Head of the Slytherin house, in my heart. Rest in peace, Professor Severus Snape...you're now with Lily, and the world will never be the same.**


	12. Chapter 12

Sorry guys, not an update today. I could give you a million excuses as to why I haven't updated _Saviours_ , when truth be told, I'm struggling so much with it!

My plan of action is to either:

Put it hiatus while I re-edit all the paragraphs and upload them.

Or take it down entirely and completely change the story with the same pairing but different plot line.

But I think it is really up to you guys. You're the ones who read it. What do _**you**_ think I should do?


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